


==> Equate death with stopping

by churb



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm hard pushed to think of anything else, Other, basically it's just cuddling, ooc cuddling, so fucking ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:32:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churb/pseuds/churb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the "Lord  English is Caliborn's self insert" theory floating around tumblr right now.</p><p>LE has been destroyed, despite the odds, and Caliborn wonders what's left for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	==> Equate death with stopping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artreactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artreactor/gifts).



> wow this sucks and it's 2am
> 
> tumblr user turntech-getting-head drove me to it with her amazing sadstuck skills
> 
> [15/10/2013 20:16:28] Dee/Horuss: there's this theory going around that if caliborn's taking control of the story  
> [15/10/2013 20:16:29] Dee/Horuss: lord english is actually his shitty self insert oc?  
> [15/10/2013 20:16:52] Dee/Horuss: you know like in fanfics where the author inserts themselves as a total mary sue who gets their fave chara as their boyf etc  
> [15/10/2013 20:17:03] Dee/Horuss: like that  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:00] San: wow  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:03] San: oh my god  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:11] San: oh my goD THATS PLAUSIBLE  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:23] San: AND ACTUALLY SORT OF CUTE AND OMG HE'S 11 AND IT FITS AND OH MY GOD.  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:27] Dee/Horuss: but  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:28] Dee/Horuss: san  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:36] Dee/Horuss: think about it  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:39] Dee/Horuss: they defeat lord engliush  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:42] Dee/Horuss: what's left?  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:50] Dee/Horuss: a slightly scared and disillusioned caliborn  
> [15/10/2013 20:18:51] Dee/Horuss: that's what  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:00] Dee/Horuss: c:  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:01] San: o h  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:10] San: tragic aND ADORABLE.  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:12] Dee/Horuss: i just  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:15] San: i just  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:18] Dee/Horuss: ....wow i kind of feel sorry for him  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:23] San: i do too  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:31] San: they literally ripped his oc to shreds  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:39] San: they rip what he wants to be to shreds  
> [15/10/2013 20:19:44] Dee/Horuss: o h  
> [15/10/2013 20:20:02] San: they rip his personficiation, what he aspires he could be, what he really wants himself to be like, the idea of it, t shreds  
> [15/10/2013 20:20:11] San: they rip his self esteem to shreds basically.  
> [15/10/2013 20:20:12] Dee/Horuss: oh gosh

Admittedly, losing the game wasn't something you had considered an option.

You suppose, thinking back on it, that that was kind of stupid of you. You had been so sure of your own success that you hadn't planned exactly what you would do if you didn't achieve it. But then again, you also suppose that something like that would be kind of unplannable. Nobody actually knew what would happen if the game ended.

You are Lord Engli-- No. No you're not. You were never Lord English. Your name is Caliborn, you are eleven years old, and you have killed people. (Which isn't really the best way to introduce yourself.) Multiple, countless people, if you were to count all the universes your creation wiped out.

 

Yes, your _creation_. You find it kind of hard to admit, even to yourself. But it was so obvious, you don't know how nobody else saw it. There was, you also admit to yourself, no fucking way you could ever have been him. He was so much stronger, so much more ruthless than you are. Were. You're going to die soon.

That's the problem, you think.

You created Lord English to be indestructible. That was his purpose. Maybe, God forbid, you wanted to actually have some power for once.

But...he wasn't indestructible. He was still so easily defeated. By _women_ , no less. Which is also the problem.

Because if Lord English, who was so much stronger than you, and everything you wanted to be, everything you aspired to, and could still be defeated, by fucking kids, no less...

...what does that make you?

Rephrase. Your name is Caliborn, you are eleven years old, you're pathetic in every way possible and you're fucking terrified.

You don't want to die. That was your main motivation for everything. The reason you joined the game, enslaved the leprechauns, and killed your sister (killedyoursister _killedyoursister **KILLEDYOURSISTER**_ ) was that you don't want to die. You're terrified of it. And if you hadn't played the game, you would have died. There was no way you would have won the conflict with your sister. She was also a lot stronger than you.

She was also everything you wanted to be.

You don't want to die, but you're going to. Everything's falling apart at the seams, literally. The game is ending and everything is crumbling in a very stereotypical way. You got hit with a rock on the way here, actually.

Everyone wants you dead. You may as well stay here and die with the damned thing.

"Hey!"

You stumble, run faster, because oh god someone's spotted you and you really don't want to

"Hey." A hand on your shoulder. "You're safe, dude, come on. We need to go."

"Don't you fucking touch me." You spit, and your voice is weird and stilted and choked and you never got to talk to people as a kid shut up. "Leave me alone."

"Dude, no. You don't get it." You turn to look at him and oh god it's Blue Male again. He looks like a weird cocktail of irritated, sympathetic and anxious. "The game is literally crumbling. You need to come with me."

"Leave me alone." You repeat. "I am not, going anywhere. With you. Go fuck yourself."

 He sighs in exasperation, and takes your shoulder again. "Jeez, take a look around. I just said it's falling to pieces."

"I know what's happening."

"Then why the fuck are you---" He cuts himself off with another sigh, and you feel your blood boil slightly.

"I don't need your _help_." You push his hand away and manage the most intimidating glare you can. "Leave me, the fuck alone."

"....you're not getting it."

"I'm getting it just fine!" You step back a little, your hands are balling into fists. "I don't need your help! I don't need anyone's help! Just fuck off already!"

"You're going to die if you stay here! Come on!" The cocktail seems a little more concentrated with irritated this time around.

   
"....Maybe I want to." Your voice catches, and you look away, you consider your words. That's not quite true. You don't want to die, you just suppose you should. That would be incredibly fitting.

  
He's silent, for a moment, and so are you, before he tilts your head back to face him, and takes both your hands gently. For some reason, you don't comment. "Come on." His voice is a little softer. "I think we've had enough deaths for a while, okay?"

   
You make some kind of noise.

   
"Now. Are you coming or not? We need to go now."

   
"Why." You're not sure you're convinced. "Why do you want me, to come with you. You want me dead."

   
"Look, everyone killed will come back to life anyway, when we go through the doors, so I don't think there would be much point in killing you."

   
"They do?!" You almost recoil.

"Yeah." He tilts his head and inspects you curiously. "You seem a little...weird. About that."

Your sister is going to be alive.

   
You're not sure how to process this information.

(This would kind of imply, then, that you would have to face her, at some point, and this is the part you have a problem with. You've never been very good at admitted you're wrong. It goes with the theme, you guess.)

Your facial expression must have shown. He responds to this by wrapping his arms around you gently and pulling you close to him. You don't object to this, either. He's pretty comfy. "Shh. It's okay." He moves a hand to your back, and you

   
You're perfectly fine. You push him off without a hint of any sadness or weakness what so ever and shoot him in the gut for daring to touch yo

   
This is getting old.

  
What you actually do instead is cling to the back of his shirt and sob like an infant because at this current moment you're incapable of doing anything else. Somehow he ends up on the floor with you on his lap and you break down against his shoulder, your fists balling into the shirt material, just under the hood. You don't think he was expecting that but it's sure as fuck not the weirdest thing he's ever done. You hope. You're pretty sure.

  
He holds you for a while and consoles you as best he can, running his hands over your back, but keeping any particular one on the back of your head to steady you. "Come on, man, it's fine. We can talk about it later, but I think now--"

  
Someone else's voice rings out. "John, where the fuck are you?! We need to go now!"

   
And really, you don't even get a choice. He pulls away, scoops you up gently, and starts to carry you like a child to wherever you assume the end game doors are. You simply wrap your arms around his neck and continue to cry, and he pets you every so often as he walks.

  
It's quite comforting. You're almost tempted to sleep.

  
You try to explain, between sobs. Just everything in general, no particular topic, and he stops you after a while. "Don't talk. Just....relax, for a while okay?" He pauses, and you attempt to collect yourself. "Sorry, this is just...kind of weird, I guess."

  
You can't help thinking he should be used to this, but you keep quiet.

  
He puts you down, soon enough, and takes your hand gently, and again you're too wrapped up in other things to notice that it might be sexual. "Okay now?" You nod, and he magically produces a tissue from somewhere and watches as you clean yourself up. He pulls at you with the other hand, and you follow him for the rest of the way, stumbling a little every so often.

  
The door is. Larger, than you expected. You stare at it, and you must have had some facial expression because your hand is being squeezed. "You ready?"

  
You look around.

  
Well, sort of. You don't want to look at anyone. You take a few glances at people you don't exactly know, and you take a bit of a longer glance at Dirk than you would like to admit. (This isn't the time to focus on that shut _up_ )

  
John takes your hand again. His other friend with the sunglasses takes your other. You feel like you're being chaperones.

  
"Jump when I tell you." He says, and everyone has their hands linked and it sounds vaguely dangerous (fuck if you care about that) and you can only wonder what's on the other side.

**Author's Note:**

> well that sucked how do I john
> 
> I'll edit this in the morning or when it's not 2am


End file.
